


Trust is a Dangerous Game - No longer being updated

by SaxonSpud



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-10-26 01:36:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20734100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaxonSpud/pseuds/SaxonSpud
Summary: Amy Macintosh was raised by her mother. She never knew her father. Her mother just said he was a good man. On her fourteenth birthday, Amy and her mother are surprised when her father turns up out of the blue. Her mother reveals in that he never wanted either of them. Amy's life is suddenly torn apart, who should she believe her mother, or her father who now wants to be a part of her life.





	1. Happy Birthday

You crouched down just like your mother had taught you. Rifle aimed at the head of the deer in your sights.  
You had first learnt to shoot a rifle when you were twelve, a revolver when you were ten. Today was your fourteenth birthday, and you'd gone hunting early with your mother. Once you had sold the pelts, she had promised you a surprise.  
"On the count of three." She whispered. "One... Two... Three."  
You squeezed the trigger.  
The deer in your sights dropped to the ground. At the same time the one in your mother's sights did the same.  
She looked at you and grinned.  
"Nice shot!" She praised.  
You smiled back. "I'll go get the horses."  
You headed back to where you had left yours and your mother's horse. You grabbed the reins and lead both horses back towards the deer.  
She had already started to skin one of the deer. You pulled a knife out your belt, and started to skin the other one.  
Your mother had taught you how to hunt and track. It had only ever been you and her. She'd also taught you about plants and herbs. It was how she made her living. Selling pelts and meat to the butcher, and herbs to the doctor. You'd learnt about plants when you were about six. At around the same time, your mother had first mentioned your father. She'd just said that he was a good man, that was all. You never asked again.

Not having a father didn't really affect you. Well apart from when you got a little older. The other kids would tease you and call you a bastard. You mother was there to wipe your tears away. After that you stopped going to school. She said she would teach you all you needed to know, and she did.

Once you'd finished skinning the deer, and harvesting the best cuts of meat, you loaded it onto your horse, a sweet leopard spot appaloosa. You patted the horses neck, "good girl, Chance." you dug into your satchel and found an oatcake.

Your mother chuckled, "You're too soft with that horse, she'll get fat and slow!"

You smiled, "she'll still beat your old horse!" you goaded.

"Amy Elizabeth Macintosh, don't you dare try and race me, not with all those pelts on your poor horse," she chided.

"Me!" you exclaimed, your brown eyes, looking doe like.

Your mother chuckled, "You should know by now, that innocent look doesn't work on me!"

You hummed, "maybe on the way back then, unless your chicken," you smirked.

She rolled her eyes and hummed, "maybe, now c'mon lets get these pelts sold."

You both mounted up and headed into Valentine. You pulled up just next to the Butchers stand, and started to unload the pelts from the back of the horses.

The butcher smiled, "good morning, ladies. I can always rely on you to bring me quality pelts. The rest of them round here, well they leave a lot to be desired," he smirked.

It was of course true. When you're mother taught you to hunt, you always hunted the best animals, and always tried to bring them down cleanly, with an undamaged pelt. It didn't always happen, well not for you. But these days, it mostly did. One day you hoped to be as good a shot as your mother.

You were lost in your thoughts, until you heard a man call your mothers name.

"Melissa? Is that you."

You looked across the street to see a smartly dressed man riding what looked like a white Arab stallion. He was dressed completely in black, except for his white pinstripe shirt, and a red silk handkerchief.

You'd never seen him before, and you knew most of your mothers acquaintances.

You looked over at your mother, the glare on her face, and her folded arms, told you that she wasn't very pleased to see him.

She handed you a piece of paper.

"Amy, go hitch the horses, and get these things from the store. I'll be along in a minute," she asked, tersely.

You looked at your mother, "mom, is everything ok?"

She glanced at you, "its fine, just do as I ask," she snapped.

Your mother never usually snapped at you, so you decided to do as you were told. Maybe it was something to do with the man across the street. You didn't hang around to find out.

After you'd hitched the horses, you walked into the store.

Mr Johnson, the owner, smiled at you. "Hi Amy, hows things?"

You glanced out the window, then back at Mr Johnson, "Ok...I think!"

You walked over to the counter, and passed him the list. "Mom wants some things," you said, passing him the list.

He nodded, "looks like ingredients for a cake. Special occasion?"

You smiled, "Not really, just my birthday."

You glanced at the door, as the bell rang.

Your mother entered the shop, followed by the stranger.

He stared at you intensely, so you looked away.

"You must be Amy?" he questioned.

You looked at him and frowned. Before you could say anything, your mother came and stood beside you. She rested a hand on your shoulder.

"Amy, this man is your daddy. He decided before you were born, he didn't want you, or me. He's the reason why the kids at school called you a bastard."

She looked over at Mr Johnson. "I'll come back for the supplies in a little while, I'm gonna buy my daughter a birthday present!" she huffed.

She grabbed your arm, and walked towards the door, purposely jostling the man's shoulder.

Once you were both in the street, he followed you out.

"Amy!" he called out.

You stopped and turned around to look at him. Tears had already started to pool in your eyes.

"Its wasn't like that... it was complicated,"

Your mother turned around, "complicated!" She hissed. "everything is always complicated with you, Dutch Van Der Linde."

"She's my daughter, I have a right..."

Your mother interrupted him. "You lost any right when you chucked me out and told me you didn't want to know!"

She looked at you, and saw a tear trickle down your cheek. She gently wiped it away.

"Don't cry sweetheart," she soothed, "not over him. He really isn't worth it."

She put her arm around you, and lead you over to the gunsmith.

"You fucking haven't heard the last of this, Melissa." Dutch growled.

She ignored him, as you both headed into the gunsmith.

You both left the gunsmith a short while later, you with a brand new Springfield rifle and revolver. The rifle was beautiful. It had a walnut stock, and a leather wrap. Your mother said you deserved it, because you were almost as good a shot as her. The revolver was a birthday present. Dark gun metal, with an ebony handle. A deer engraved into it. Although you had learnt how to fire one when you were younger, you'd never had your own. Now she thought it was time. She also bought you a holster to go with it. You did wonder if this was planned, or whether it was to do with the man, who was your father.

It had always upset you when the other kids called you a bastard. You knew exactly what it meant. Now, knowing that he didn't actually want you, made it all the more real. You tried to put him out of your mind. If he didn't want you then, you sure as hell didn't want him now.

You both headed across to the store. Mr Johnson had the supplies ready. He also put a bar of chocolate on top. A birthday gift for you.

You thanked him.

After leaving the store, you mother put the supplies in her saddlebag. You both mounted up, and headed for home.

You didn't race. After the incident in town you didn't really feel like it.

Once you got home, your mother headed inside, to make you a cake. You found some old empty bottles, and set them up on the fence. You practised with you new revolver, pretending each one was your father. The hurt you had felt earlier, slowly smouldering. Turning into anger, and then into hatred.

You hoped that each bottle you shattered, would ease the hatred that you felt for him. It didn't. It didn't even come close.

Eventually your mother called you inside.

As you entered the house, you saw the cake she had baked, sitting on the table.

All thoughts of your father, slipped from your mind as you smelt the chocolate.

She smiled, "Happy birthday, Sweetheart. We should really eat supper first, and then have cake. But it ain't your birthday everyday!"

You chuckled. You certainly weren't going to complain, and it took your mind off the hatred that was slowly burning within you, like a stick of dynamite, waiting to explode.


	2. Home Invasion

As the sun began to set, you stifled a yawn. It had been a long day.

Your mother looked at you. "Amy?" she asked softly.

You knew what was coming, even before she started talking, "No," you snapped. "I think I'll just go to bed."

"Wait, don't you want to know anything about him?" she queried.

The hurt that had turned into hate, bubbled to the surface.

You clenched your fists,"Why would I. He never cared about me, he never wanted me. Why would I want to know about him, he's nothing to me." you paused, "less than nothing!" you spat.

Your mother looked at you. The tears from this morning had turned to anger, then to hate. She wasn't surprised.

"If he comes around, and wants to see you..." she started.

"He'll be unlucky...good night mother!" you huffed, and headed for your bedroom.

Your mother watched you go, slowly shaking her head. You never called her mother. It was always mom. She hoped that Dutch Van Der Linde, stayed away. More for his sake, than yours.

You hadn't been in your room long. You'd sat on the bed, removing your boots and gun belt, when you heard a knock at the front door.

Your curiosity was peaked, so you opened the bedroom door a crack. You could see the front door from here.

You watched as your mother opened the door.

"Arthur...Arthur Morgan, what are you doing here?" she asked, smiling.

You looked at the man. He filled the door frame. You wondered how she knew him. You'd never seen him before.

"Can I come in?" he ventured.

She nodded, "of course."

As he walked in he removed his hat. "Dutch sent me," he remarked.

Your mother sighed, "I might have guessed, so he sent you. What as, a friend, or an enforcer," she huffed.

Arthur sighed. "He's determined, Melissa. He wants to see her."

You'd heard enough. This man was something to do with your father. You grabbed the revolver out of its holster, and walked into the room.

You pointed it at this man, this Arthur. "I don't want to see him, now get out and leave me alone," you hissed.

Arthur stared at you, and raised his hands. He glanced at your mother.

"Acorn didn't fall far from the tree there," he chuckled.

You mother frowned at you, "That's enough Amy, put the gun away."

You stared at her, a hurt expression on your face, lowering the gun slightly. "After all that he did, all the shit I've had to deal with because I have no father, you still expect me to see him?" you hissed.

Arthur took a step towards you. You quickly raised the gun and pointed it at him.

"No, you leave and you tell him. He wasn't around when I needed him, so he can get lost. I don't need him now, I'll never need him, he nothing to me." you ranted.

Arthur took a step back, "Ok kid, I'll tell him."

He looked at your mother, "good to see you, maybe I could visit, on my own account."

You mother nodded, "maybe."

Arthur walked out the door, and your mother shut it behind him.

She turned to look at you. Not sure what to say.

"Go to bed Amy, we'll talk about this in the morning." she suggested.

You turned to go back to your bedroom.

"There ain't nothing to discuss, I ain't gonna see him." you insisted, before closing the door.

You put the gun back in its holster, and finished getting ready for bed. You didn't care if he sent the hounds of hell around. You were determined not to have anything to do with him.

The following morning you woke around sunrise. It was a normal day, so you started as you normally would. You put the horses in the paddock, and started to clean out the stalls in the barn.

You were about half way through, when you saw Them. Dutch Van Der Linde, your father, and his enforcer, Arthur Morgan.

The two men hitched their horses on the fence, and walked towards the house.

They hadn't seen you, so you watched from your hiding place in the barn.

They knocked on the door, and your mother opened it. She would be preparing breakfast, ready for when you had finished your chores.

She looked slightly annoyed, from what you could see from your viewpoint, but you couldn't hear what she said.

She did, however, invite them inside, which after your conversation last night annoyed you slightly.

Determined that you weren't going to see or speak to your father, you grabbed Chance's bridle from its hook. You didn't need the saddle. Another thing your mother had taught you, was how to ride. You had been riding since you were about five. Riding without a saddle wasn't an issue.

You crept out of the barn and over to the paddock, where chance was grazing. You quickly put on the bridle, and jumped on her back. After a quick circuit of the paddock, you jumped her over the fence, and headed into the woods out the back. You had no intention of returning home, until both the strangers had gone.

Your mother, stood in the house, hands on hips

"She doesn't want to see you. She's not upset anymore, but she's as angry as hell, and I don't blame her," she seethed.

"God-damn it, Melissa. She's my daughter. You tellin' her I didn't want her, really didn't help." Dutch hissed.

"I was only telling her the truth, unlike you I'm not a liar. It takes more than you impregnating me with your seed to make you a father. You've failed at that role, miserably," she huffed.

Dutch glared at Melissa, knowing what she said was true, but not prepared to admit it.

It was at that point, she looked out the window, and saw you and Chance, clear the paddock fence, and head off into the woods."

"Fuck!" she hissed. "She must have seen you come into the house. She's gone. I can guarantee she wont come back until you leave."

You hitched chance to a tree, and looked across the grasslands to your family home. You had a good view of the fence, where the two horses were hitched. You waited. Once they were gone you would head home.

You weren't the only one watching the house that morning. A stranger had watched as the two men entered the house. He didn't wait around, and headed off towards Valentine.

You stood in the treeline for what seemed like ages. If they were waiting for you to return, then they would have a bloody long wait. Surely you mother didn't expect you to have anything to do with him. If he wanted to be your father, then why wait fourteen years.

Finally the two men walked to the horses. As they mounted, they seemed to be looking around. You ducked back into the trees. It was unlikely they could see you, but you weren't taking any chances. All the things your mother had taught you about hunting, and not letting your prey see you or smell you, came to your mind. You weren't hunting, but felt almost like the prey. Except you weren't going to be caught!

Once you were sure they had left, you unhitched Chance, and rode back to the cabin. Turning the horse back out into the paddock, you hung the bridle back up in the barn, and headed towards the house.

You really hoped you weren't going to get a lecture from your mother. You'd told her you didn't want anything to do with him, surely she should respect that.

"Where have you been?" she scolded as you walked in the door.

You sighed, "I told you, I don't want to see him. I saw them arrive when I was in the barn, I decided to make myself scarce," you concluded.

Your mother rolled her eyes. "he wasn't very happy!"

"Why is he here, mom? Why has he suddenly turned up, after fourteen years?" You asked, angrily.

Your mother shrugged, "he probably has his reasons. c'mon lets eat." she deflected.

You felt like she was evading your questions. There had to be a reason. But then she had always told you he was a good man. A good man doesn't walk away from his child. A good man doesn't need an enforcer. What wasn't your mother telling you?

Your mother put a couple of bowls of oatmeal on the table. You sat down and started to eat.

"You know," she started, "it wouldn't hurt you to just meet him."

You dropped the spoon in the bowl, and stared at her, "I can't believe you're even suggesting it!" You countered.

She sighed, "well..." she began.

She didn't get much further as there was a loud bang on the front door.

"Melissa, I know you and your brat are in there. Just come out, and no one needs to die," the man hissed.

You then heard laughter, it lacked the tone of someone laughing at something funny.

"Amy," your mother whispered, "quickly, grab your rifle, and head out the back. Go and hide in the woods."

You stared at your mother, "wh... what about you. Are they gonna try and kill you?" you asked, fear in your voice.

She smiled, "They'll probably try."

"Let me stay with you, I'm a good shot, I'll help."

She shook her head, "No, Amy. You get out of here. If anything happens, you find your father, you understand?"

"Mom, what's going on?" you pleaded.

She shook her head, "Just get the rifle, and get the hell outta here. Only come back when its safe."

You quickly got up from the table, and grabbed the new rifle that was leaning against the wall. You slung it over your shoulder.

You ran to the door, and looked back, "I love you mom!" you whispered, tears beginning to pool in your eyes.

She smiled, "I love you too, sweetheart, now go!"

You quietly opened the back door, and stepped outside, just as you heard the crash of the front door being kicked in.

You ran as fast as you could, towards the trees, keeping low, like you did when you were hunting.

You started to hear gunshots, coming from the house. You ran deeper into the wood, tears trickling down your cheek, wondering if you'd ever see your mother again.

You hid behind a large oak. The gunshots had stopped, but you now heard voices, heading towards the trees where you were hiding.

Did you run, or did you stay still and hide, or did you try and fight.

The decision was taken from you when you heard a twig crack behind you. And arm snaked around your waist pinning your arms to your side, and a hand clamped over your mouth. You struggled to free yourself but to no avail, you couldn't make any noise either the hand was clamped over your mouth to hard, not just stopping you from making a noise but stopping you from breathing. You squirmed and struggled with panic, fighting to try and breath.

"Stop struggling," he hissed, "or you'll get us all killed."


	3. Take my chance

You carried on struggling. Trying to get away from the hand that was depriving you of breath, your heart felt like it was going to explode from your chest. You heard gunshots, closer now. The men who had invaded your home were now in the woods. You wondered if this man was one of them. Your vision started to blur. Just before everything went black you heard a voice you recognised, “for fuck sake Bill, she can’t breathe.” Then your body went limp.  
  
“Amy? Amy, can you hear me?”  
The voice was distant. Like it was faraway. But it wasn’t it was close. Because there was a hand touching your shoulder and another one touching your face.  
“She’s coming to.” Another, different voice. Louder now.  
You opened your eyes trying to focus.  
“Here, drink this.”  
You felt a water bottle on your lips, you drank the water which was offered.  
“Mom. Where’s my mom?” You groaned. Your eyes began to focus. Then you saw him. His hand resting on your shoulder.  
“Get off me!” You hissed. “Where’s my mom?”  
Dutch removed his hand from your shoulder.  
“Listen to me, Amy...” he started.  
“No. Leave me alone.” You growled. “I need to find my mom.”  
You tried to stand, but another hand pushed down on your shoulder, forcing you to stay sitting. You looked, to see Arthur.  
“I’m sorry Amy. Your mom... your mom didn’t make it. There were too many.” He soothed.  
You shook your head as tears trickled down your cheeks.  
“No. Your lying.” You sobbed. “She’s in the house. I’ve just gotta help her.”  
Arthur shook his head, and gripped your shoulder a bit tighter. “Now you know that ain’t true otherwise you wouldn’t be cryin' now would ya?”  
You wiped the tears away with the back of your hand. Finding some inner strength from somewhere. You glared at Dutch.  
“This is all your fault,” you hissed. “Why did you come back, you didn’t want us anyway. I hate you. Everything was fine until you showed up.”  
Dutch sighed. There was a grain of truth in what you had said, the part about him showing up anyway.  
“Amy...Sweetheart. They would have found your mom and you eventually.” Dutch soothed. “don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”  
You glared at him. “I don’t need you. I can look after myself.”  
Arthur rolled his eyes. “If they killed your mom, how easy do you think it’ll be for them to kill you, or worse.”  
“Arthur!” Dutch hissed.  
“What! It’s the truth ain’t it.” He retorted.  
You glanced between the two men. Your heart thumping in your chest.  
“What... Why... Who are they?” You stuttered, your voice trembling.

Dutch sighed, “I’ll explain everything, right now we need to get outta here,”

You glared at him.

“Look, I know you don’t really wanna be with me, but right now you ain’t got much choice.” Dutch sighed.

“More like you don’t want me, you never did.” you muttered, “what about my stuff?”

Dutch shook his head, slightly exasperated, “I’ll send one of my boys to get it.”

“and my horse,” you added.

“Arthur,” Dutch sighed, “fetch her horse, its the...”

“Brown spot appaloosa,” you interrupted.

“Yes I know, a brown spot appaloosa mare, called Chance.” Dutch added.

“How…?” You started to ask.

Dutch sighed, “because I bought her for you. Your mother obviously chose not to tell you!”

You narrowed your eyes, “she would have told me,” you huffed.

Dutch rolled his eyes, “of course she would, c’mon. You can ride with me.”

You glared at him, and stood up, with your arms folded across your chest.

“I ain’t riding with you,” you hissed.

“Well, its an awful long walk,” Dutch scoffed.

You turned and started to walk away from him, out of the wood.

“Where the hell do you think your goin’!” he yelled.

“I’m walking,” you snarled, stubbornly.

Dutch shook his head and sighed, “just like your god-damn mother, stubborn. Wait. Arthur, go get her horse.”

Arthur chuckled, as he headed towards the paddock.

You turned to face Dutch and glared at him, your arms still folded. You realised that you didn’t have your rifle or your revolver.

“Where are my guns?” you grumbled.

Dutch chuckled. “They’re safe, I think I’ll hang onto them, until you decide you don’t want to kill me!”

“You might have a long wait,” you muttered, kicking up some fallen leaves, in frustration.

You both stood there in silence, eyeing each other up and down, until Arthur returned with Chance.

“Bill’s getting Amy’s stuff together, he’ll meet us back at camp,” Arthur said to Dutch as he handed you Chance’s reins.

Dutch nodded, “c’mon,” he looked at you, “the horses are hitched down here.”

You followed him down a short incline on the other side of the woods. The horses were hitched near a stream.

Dutch mounted his horse, as he did he glared at you, “Don’t even think about taking off, once we get going,” he growled.

You sighed, and mounted Chance, you followed him

Once Arthur had mounted his horse, he followed you.

You glanced over your shoulder, any thoughts of running for it, were soon scuppered. Well for now at least.

It wasn’t long before you were on the main track. You stared at the back of the man on the white Arab. Dutch Van Der Linde, your father. Your mothers words echoed in your head _i__f anything happens, you find your father. _Well, he had found you. Now you had to decide, did you do as your mother asked or did you try and make your own way. Your mothers words weren’t the only thing that echoed in your mind. _Oh look here comes the hunters bastard. _All because your father hadn’t wanted the trouble of a child. Had kicked out his pregnant lover. Now your mother expected you to stay with him. Why stay with someone who didn’t want you.

You weren’t stupid though, you had no gun. He still had those. But you had your knife, if you ran into trouble. You could head back to the woods, the men that had been shot, they’d still have their guns. You really wanted your own, after all they were the last thing your mother had bought you. Even that he had stolen from you. You’d lost your mother, your guns and your life was in ruins. The hatred started to bubble again.

Logic went out the window, and when you saw your chance, you took it. Spinning chance round, and galloping back the way you had come.

“Fuck!” Dutch Hissed, as you galloped off.

“It was bound to happen,” Arthur huffed, “I’ll go get her!”

“I’ll head back to camp, I’ll send Charles to find you, just in case you need to track her.” Dutch added, as he headed back to camp.

You galloped as hard as you could, glancing over your shoulder every so often, trying to shake of the rider that was following you. You were pretty sure it was Arthur. Your mother had taught you well though. You were a good rider. You began to wonder why your mother had taught you all these things. Most girls of your age were learning how to bake, do things around the home, sew and mend. But your mother had taught you differently, how to ride, how to shoot, how to hunt.

What plants were safe and which were poisonous. How to track, and how to avoid being tracked. How to setup a camp. Was this what she had been teaching you for? Did she expect this to happen at some point? Who were the men who broke into your home? What were they after?

You pushed the thoughts to the back of your mind, concentrating on losing Arthur Morgan. You’d then head back to the woods, and find a gun.

You cut across country, into some dense woodland. You dismounted, and hit Chance on the rump. She galloped away. You’d taught her to come to a whistle. If Arthur was looking for a horse, you might be able to throw him off the trail. At least for now.

You headed a bit deeper into the woods. There was no sign of Arthur. You decided to wait for a while. Then you would whistle for Chance then head back to the woods near the house.

Despite how you’d planned everything in your head, it didn’t quite work out that way.

The lack of food in your belly, coupled with the ride, and the trauma of the day took its toll. You’d intended to sit out in the woods until the coast was clear, but your mind and body had other ideas.

Leaning up against the tree, your eyelids drooped, and you dozed off to sleep.

Arthur, whilst a pretty good tracker, had lost you. When you cut off into the trees, then sent chance off, he carried on tracking, and tracked your horse. She’d stopped and was merrily grazing on a patch of grass. So he waited. Dutch good to his word, sent Charles back. After a short discussion with Arthur, Charles soon tracked you.

The two men found you, leant against the tree sleeping.

Arthur gave you a gentle kick. As soon as you woke up and saw the two men, you tried to scramble away and run. But Arthur was too quick. He soon had you pinned on your belly, tying your wrists together.

“Let me go!” You screamed.

Arthur grabbed your arms and stood you up, “that ain’t gonna happen, princess. I trust ya about as far as I could throw ya,” he smirked.

You struggled, and managed to kick backwards, catching him in the shins.

Arthur spun you around, and pinned you against a tree.

“Now you listen, and you listen good. You either come easy, and you ride in front of me, or god help me, I’ll hog-tie you and chuck you on the back of my horse… what’s it gonna be?” he warned, angrily.

Your shoulders sagged, “I’ll come easy,” you muttered.

“Good choice,” he growled.

Arthur grabbed your arm and led you to his horse. He picked you up, effortlessly and put you on the saddle, before mounting up behind you.

You glared at the other man, who was sitting on a horse, and leading Chance.

“Hello Amy, I’m Charles. This is a very nice horse.”

You rolled your eyes, and huffed.

“She ain’t very happy, Charles,” Arthur smirked. “She’ll be even less so, when her father gets through with her!”

Charles stared at you, “Didn’t know Dutch had a daughter,” he commented to Arthur.

Arthur frowned, “How did you know she was Dutch’s daughter.?”

Charles chuckled, “You only have to look at her, surely you can see the resemblance, Black hair, brown eyes!”

Arthur chuckled, “yeah, and moody with it! She’s certainly her fathers daughter.”

You scowled. That was the last thing you wanted to hear.


	4. Horseshoe Overlook

The ride back to your fathers camp, was mostly done in silence. Arthur asked you a couple of times if you were ok, only to be met with a huff or a grunt from you. You felt like saying, would you be ok if you were tied up? But you felt it was pointless. Anything you said would be pointless, as no one seemed to be taking what you wanted into consideration.

It didn’t take long to get there, it was closer to Valentine than you thought. Situated about midway between your house, and Valentine. It seemed strange calling it your house, as the chances of you ever going back there, were pretty remote.

As you rode up the track to the camp, you noticed a guard, who yelled out, Arthur yelled back. As you approached the main camp, there were several hitching posts, and plenty of horses.

Once Arthur had dismounted he lifted you down. He grabbed your arm and started to guide you towards the centre of the camp, where the tents were setup.

You tried to pull your arm out of his grip.

He rolled his eyes, “suit yourself,” he huffed, as he shoved you towards the biggest tent in the camp.

You stumbled, and fell to your knees.

You turned your head around and glared at him, as he went to help you up.

Dutch saw you fall, he also saw that your hands were bound.

“Honestly Arthur, was that really necessary!” he scowled.

Arthur rolled his eyes, “she wouldn’t have come other wise!”

Dutch walked over to you, “Turn around,” he demanded.

You did as he asked, pretty sure that if you didn’t, you’d be man handled.

You felt a knife slice through the ropes.

You rubbed your wrists, where the rope and started to chafe, then turned to face him.

You folded you arms and glared at him.

“Come into my tent, lets have a chat.” he suggested.

You narrowed your eyes, “I’ve got nothing to say,” you huffed.

He hummed, “maybe later then, would you like something to eat?”

“I’m not hungry,” you lied.

Of course you were hungry, you’d only had half a bowl oatmeal this morning. But your stubbornness and anger were taking over.

He pointed to a tent, that was next to his. “All your stuff from the house is in there, and there’s a bed in there.”

You walked towards the tent, looking inside you sighed.

“I know its not what your used to, but...”

You ignored him, and walked across the camp to the edge of the cliff.

“Amy, Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you!” He scolded.

You ignored him and carried on walking. When you reached the edge of the cliff, you sat down, with your legs dangling over the edge.

So this was going to be your life from now on. Living in a tent, with a bunch of people you didn’t know, in a place you didn’t want to be.

Dutch stared across the camp, looking at you. He shook his head.

“What am I gonna do, Hosea. She thinks I didn’t want her.” he asked the older man that was standing next to him.

Hosea sighed, “maybe it was a mistake,” he mused.

Dutch frowned, “I couldn’t very well leave her, after they killed her mother!”

Hosea shook his head, “I’m not talking about that, maybe you shouldn’t have sent her mother away in the first place.”

As you sat there on the edge of the cliff, you heard a noise behind you.

When you looked, you saw a little boy standing there looking at you.

“Hello,” he smiled, “I’m Jack.”

You narrowed your eyes and glared at him. “Shove off,” you growled.

The little boy started to cry, and ran over to a woman, who comforted him.

She glared at you, and walked over. “What’s your problem,” scowled, “he was just being friendly,”

You glared at her, “well tell him to be friendly to someone else, I’m not interested.” you growled.

You turned back to look at the view, tears beginning to pool in your eyes. So it wasn’t that he didn’t want kids around, it was just that he didn’t want you. Your mother had been telling the truth.

You hadn’t been sitting there for very long, when you were disturbed once again.

“Well well. If it ain’t Dutch’s little bastard!”

That was it, that was about the last straw. You let out a blood-curdling shriek, jumped up, and grabbing the knife from you belt, dived at the man.

You didn’t really stand a chance. As soon as you ran at him, he raised his elbow, winding you. Then he grabbed your wrists, and threw you to the floor.

“You little bastard, I’m gonna teach you a lesson.” he growled.

He bent back the hand that was gripping the knife, you screamed as you heard a crack, and a shaft of pain went through your wrist.

Before he had a chance to do anything, a woman, who you hadn’t seen before, came striding towards him.

“Mr Bell, leave this young woman alone, or I swear I’ll gut you like the pig that you are,” she hissed.

The man immediately let go of you and stood up. You rolled over, gripping your wrist. Tears running down your face, as you sobbed, with the pain and the memories which came flooding back, when the other kids used to call you a bastard.

It was something, that you had never quite been able to get over.

The woman walked over to where you were, still on the ground.

“let me take a look at that,” she demanded.

You shook your head, holding your arm to your chest.

“Don’t be silly, Amy,” she scolded softly, “lets get you back to your tent, and I’ll have a look.”

You looked at her, a surprised look on your face, as she helped you to your feet. Then an arm wrapped around your shoulder.

As she guided you back to your tent, she called across. “Miss Tilly, bring me some bandages, and some whisky.

She sat you down on the cot. “Now Amy, lets take a look, my name is Susan, I look after things round here.”

She gently took your arm, and examined your wrist.

As she was looking, the tent flap opened, and a young black woman entered. She put the whisky and bandages down on a small table, along with a glass.

She stood there, looking at you.

“Don’t stand there gawping Tilly, pour a glass of that whisky.” Susan commanded.

Once she had poured it, she passed it to Susan.

“Now I want you to drink this, it won’t taste very nice, but it’ll help with the pain. I wont lie, this is gonna hurt a bit.”

You looked at the glass of whisky, and then at Susan, “Thank you… for not lying.” you whispered. It seems lately that’s all anyone had done. You drank the whisky, and grimaced.

Susan frowned, as she started to bind your wrist. You whimpered slightly through gritted teeth, as she did it. She was right, it did hurt.

Once she was done, she glanced over at Tilly. “Can you grab a bowl of stew for Amy.”

Tilly nodded and left the tent.

“I’m not...” you started.

Susan scowled at you, “I’ve done you the courtesy of not lying, perhaps you can return the favour!” she scolded, harshly.

“Sorry,” you replied, meekly, “it’s just...”

Susan put her arm around you, “I know you’ve had a tough day, and I know you’re confused.” she sighed. “I think some people need to start telling you the truth. I’ll have a word with Dutch.”

“But...” you tried to interrupt but Susan was having none of it.

“No Buts, Amy. Neither Dutch nor your Mother, have told you the whole truth. That’s gonna stop right now. Once you know the truth, then you might find things a bit easier.”

You frowned, “Can’t you tell me?” you asked.

Susan rolled her eyes, “Its not my place, I’ve probably said too much already,” she scoffed.

The tent flap opened and Tilly came in with the stew.

“I suggest you eat now, then get some rest. Hopefully you can get some answers in the morning.” She concluded.

You watched as Tilly and Susan left the tent. What did she mean? You wondered what was going on.

You finished the stew, and put the bowl on the small table.

You pulled off your boots, and took off your belt. It was awkward, as you could only really use one hand, but you managed it. You lay on the cot and closed your eyes. It wasn’t long before you drifted off to sleep.

Susan walked into Dutch’s tent.

“Is she ok?” he asked, he had heard the screams, but had left Susan to it.

Susan glared at Dutch, “you need to have a word with Mr Bell, you also need to tell that girl what’s going on. Goodness only knows what must be going through her mind right now!” she chided.

Dutch nodded, “I will. I’ll talk with her tomorrow.”

Susan nodded, “and Dutch, make sure you tell her everything. She needs to know… that she’s wanted, that you didn’t just cast her aside. Especially after her seeing young Jack!”

Dutch sighed and shook his head, “I should never have let it go this far.”

Susan raised her eyebrows, “No you shouldn’t have, so now you just need to make it right!”


	5. Realisation and Truth

You woke the following morning, well after sunrise. It was only after you opened your eyes, finding yourself in a tent, that the realisation hit you. The events of yesterday sunk in, made all too real by the throbbing which came from you wrist.

Tears started to pool in your eye. You pulled yourself into a ball, and quietly sobbed. Pressing your face into the pillow, to try and muffle the sound.

When you mother was alive, you hardly ever cried. If you hurt yourself, she would tell you not to be weak, that you were stronger than that. Physical hurt you could cope with, emotional hurt you didn't cope with so well.

Your sobbing wasn't as quiet as you thought. Hosea and Dutch sat at a table, just outside Dutch’s tent, which was next to yours.

“You should go to her,” Hosea suggested, looking towards your tent.

Dutch sighed, “you know she hates me, right now.”

Hosea nodded, “she might hate you, but she needs you more.”

Dutch slowly stood up, he knew nothing about raising girls. Arthur and John had been easy, compared to this. He straightened his waistcoat. He didn't really comfort women much, come to think of it. Then he remembered Melissa. When she had come to him as a friend. Crying about what she had done. He had comforted her as a friend. Even later, she had only been a friend.

He walked towards your tent.

You didn't hear the tent flap open. But you felt the pressure on the edge of the cot, as Dutch sat down.

He put his hand on your back, rubbing it gently.

“Amy, sweetheart...I...I know its hard right now. I know I haven't been around for most of your life, but I’m here now. I never stopped thinking about you, I hope you believe that,” he soothed.

You turned your head to look at him, “why?” you sobbed.

He gently stroked the damp hair from your tear soak face.

“There are bad men out there, sweetheart. They get what they want by hurting people. Your mama just got in the way.” he whispered.

You shook your head, “No, why didn't you want me? When you wanted Jack!”

Your question shot through Dutch like an arrow through his heart.

“Oh Amy, I wanted you so much, I wanted to see you grow, be a daddy to you. But I couldn't. Your mama was so angry with me when I sent her away, before you were born. But she knew why I did it.” he confessed, “and Jack, well I’m not his daddy.”

“Why did you?” You sniffled.

Dutch looked at you and smiled, “sit up, sweetheart.”

You sat up looking at him.

Dutch wiped a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb, he looked at you, your ebony hair, your dark brown eyes.

“God-damn, you look so much like me,” he mused.

He sighed, “a long time before you were born, your mama killed a man.” he started.

You gasped, your mom had never told you that she’d killed someone.

Dutch put his arm around you. “His brother was a really bad man, he wasn't much better. Your mama came to see me, she was really scared. So I told everyone it was me,” he concluded.

You blinked, “why would you do that?”

Dutch smiled, “your mama was my friend. The man didn't like me much anyway.” he hesitated, “and she was their sister.”

You stared at him, “mom… Sh… She once told me you were a good man.”

Dutch chuckled, “sometimes, maybe.”

“Did...did he kill my mom?” you asked, tears pooling in your eyes again.

Dutch nodded, “I think so.”

You pulled away from him, “He… He wants to k… Kill me too,” you whimpered.

Dutch put his hands gently on your shoulders.

“I’m not gonna let him, Amy. I promise.” he declared.

You looked your father in the eye, “If I’m his family, why does he want me dead?”

Dutch sighed, “because he hates me more than anything, and he’ll use you to get at me.”

Tears cascaded down your cheeks, “I’m frightened daddy,” you cried.

Dutch’s breath hitched in his throat, hearing you call him daddy. He wrapped his arms around you, to steady himself.

You buried your head in his chest.

“Don’t be frightened, Amy. I’ll do what ever I need to, to keep you safe.” he soothed.

You lifted your head, and looked at your father.

“W… will you,” you stuttered, then continued. “K… kill him?”

Dutch looked at you, “Yes I will, he’s killed people that I love. Its going to end right now. I wont let him harm a hair on your head,” he affirmed.

“I’m sorry Daddy,” you whispered.

Dutch looked at you, his expression softened. “Why are you sorry?”

“for running away, for saying I hated you and I didn't need you.” you whispered.

Dutch smiled, “You and your mama never knew, but I had someone keep an eye on you, while you were growing up. I couldn't be there, but I never forgot you. That's how I knew about Chance. I knew you would love her.”

“Mom got Chance from uncle Josiah!” you exclaimed.

Dutch chuckled, “uncle Josiah, eh. I’ve known him as many things, but never uncle!”

You frowned. “Why did you come now?”

Dutch sighed, “We had a few problems, and ended up here. When I saw you and your mama in Valentine, I couldn’t not come over. I probably shouldn't have. But Colm would have found you sooner or later.”

“Colm?” you queried.

Dutch nodded, “Colm O’ Driscoll” he spat out the name, like venom on his tongue. “Your mama’s brother.”

You frowned, “If he’s my uncle, why does he want to kill me? Uncle Josiah doesn’t.”

Dutch smiled, “lets go and get some breakfast, maybe we’ll go and see uncle Josiah.” He deflected.

He had a funny feeling that when ‘uncle Josiah’ found out what he’d done, he wouldn’t be very happy. The threat to Dutch from uncle Josiah might be a lot worse than the threat from Colm O’ Driscoll.


	6. Van Der Linde's Daughter

Dutch helped you on with your boots, and grabbed the belt with the empty holster attached.

“About time I let you have your gun back,” he smirked. “unless you plan to shoot me?”

You smiled and shook your head.

He touched your face gently, and smiled, “I hope we’re gonna see that smile a bit more often.”

You let him buckle the belt, around your waist.

He looked at your wrist, “lets have a look.”

You lifted up your arm, and as he grabbed hold of your wrist, you winced, and whimpered.

Dutch frowned, “does it hurt?”

You looked down, and nodded.

Dutch put his hand on the top of your head, and gently tilted it back, so you were looking at him.

“You have to tell me, if your hurt, or if something's bothering you. Do you understand?” he growled.

“Yes, sir.” you replied, you’re voice trembling.

Dutch sighed, and softened his voice, “I’m not cross Amy, I just want to make sure your ok,”

You hesitated, “it hurts, real bad.” you admitted.

Dutch nodded, “Ok, lets see if we can get that sorted then.”

He put his hand on your shoulder, and guided you out of the tent.

He guided you over to the table where Hosea sat. Arthur had now joined him.

“Amy, this is Hosea, and you already know Arthur.” Dutch noted, as he introduced you.

Hosea smiled, “How’s the wrist? I heard you had a bit of a run in with Micah.”

“It hurts, a lot.” you mumbled.

“Let me see,” Hosea suggested.

You looked at Dutch, you didn't trust many people but you had started to trust Dutch, and Susan.

Dutch nodded, so you sat down, and held out your arm.

You were surprised how gentle Hosea was. Compared to Arthur, who had been quite rough, when he brought you back.

Once Hosea had removed the bandages, he turned your hand over, then gently put pressure on your wrist.

You yelped, before gritting your teeth.

“I’m sorry Amy, I didn't mean to hurt you,” Hosea apologised.

Dutch put his hand on your shoulder, “What do you think, Hosea. Can you deal with it, or should I take her to the doctor in Valentine?”

Hosea hummed, and looked at you, “What exactly happened, with Micah yesterday?”

You frowned, “He made me angry, so I tried to stab him with my knife. He grabbed me and bent my hand back until I dropped the knife, then Susan said he had to leave me be, or she would gut him like a pig!” You smirked.

Arthur chuckled, until he received a glare from Dutch, then he looked at you.

Dutch narrowed his eyes, “you can’t go round attacking people with a knife, just because they make you angry,” he scolded.

You frowned, “but...”

“No buts, its not how we behave around here.” he chided.

You sighed, and pouted.

“So what exactly did Micah do, to make you so angry?” Hosea asked, continuing to look at your wrist.

“I… He… it doesn't matter,” you sighed, looking away.

Dutch sat down next to you, and gently turned you face, so you were looking at him.

“Of course it matters, tell me what happened?”

“He… he,” your breathing became fast and shallow, “He said I was your bastard.”

Arthur muttered under his breath, “son of a bitch.”

Dutch closed his eyes and sighed. He knew from your mothers outburst in the general store in Valentine, how much it hurt you, to be called that.

“Why didn't you say something, Amy?” Dutch asked, “I told you, you need to tell me if something is bothering you.”

You sighed, “I tried to, but you said no buts!”

Dutch shook his head, “Sorry sweetheart, guess I need to listen a bit more. This is new to both of us, we’re gonna need to help each other out.”

You nodded, and smiled at him.

Dutch gently put his hand on the top of your head, and kissed your forehead.

“Now Hosea, what do you think?” Dutch prompted.

Hosea glanced at you, then at Dutch.

“Its not broken, which is good, but the thumb is dislocated. It needs to be put back in.” he concluded.

You looked at him, and narrowed your eyes, “Its gonna hurt, isn’t it?” You asked.

Hosea looked at you, his lips narrowed, and he nodded.

“You gonna be brave, Amy?” Hosea asked.

“Of course she is, she’s my daughter,” Dutch blustered.

You shook your head, and tears started to pool in your eyes.

You looked at your father, “I’m scared, daddy,” you wailed, tears tricking down your cheek.

“Don’t worry, Hosea will make it quick, come here.”

Dutch grabbed you and sat you on his lap, he pressed your head into his chest. You were thankful because at least you couldn’t see what was going on.

You felt someone hold your arm tightly. You figured it might be Arthur, as your father, had his arm wrapped around you. Rubbing circles on your back, in an attempt to calm you.

Before you knew what happened, Hosea hand yanked your thumb. Your scream, turned into a sob as you heard a pop.

Dutch shushed you, “It’s ok sweetheart, its all done.”

Susan came rushing over, “what the hell...” she started.

“Its ok Susan,” Hosea countered, “Amy’s thumb was dislocated, I just put it back in.”

Susan shook her head, “Poor thing, as if she hasn't been through enough already, I’ll bring you some fresh bandages.”

As soon as Susan returned with the bandages, Hosea put them on your hand.

You still had your head buried in Dutch’s chest, whimpering.

After a while, he picked you up, and carried you back into your tent. He laid you down on the cot.

“You should sleep, Amy. Let your body heal,”

You nodded, “I’m sorry daddy, I wasn't very brave.” you whimpered.

Dutch smiled, and sat there, stroking your forehead.

“You were braver than a lot of men I know, I’m real proud of you sweetheart.” He soothed.

You closed your eyes, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Dutch sat there, stroking your forehead and gazing at you. How things could change in the space of a few days.

Arthur poked his head in the tent, “Is she gonna be ok?” he asked.

Dutch nodded, “She’ll be fine. But I want you to go and find Micah, I need to have words with him, No one calls my daughter a bastard, no one!” he growled.

Arthur nodded, “I’ll go find him.”

Dutch stood up, and looked at you sleeping, he smiled. He would protect you now. From harsh words, from Colm O’Driscoll, and from anyone else who dared to try and hurt you. His only regret was that it took your mother dying, to realise what a mistake he had made when he forced her to leave before you were born. All the years he had lost with his only daughter, he was determined to make up for that now.


	7. Bonding

You opened your eyes, the only thing lighting the tent, was a small lantern. It must be dark now. How long had you slept for.

“How are you feeling?”

You glanced across, to see your daddy, sitting on a chair, a book in his hand.

You frowned, not quite understanding why he was here.

“Why are you here?” you asked.

Dutch smiled, “just making sure you’re ok, sweetheart. Are you?”

You nodded, and looked at the bandage on your hand, “it’s sore, but doesn't hurt as much.”

Dutch stood up and walked over to the cot, he sat down on the edge.

“Would you like me to read to you?” he asked.

You frowned again, “I can read,” you stated.

He nodded, “I wasn’t sure, you didn’t have many books at your house.”

You sighed. “There was never much money for books, or time.”

This time, it was Dutch’s turn to frown. Josiah had never said that you and your mother were short of money. He held out his hand,

“Come with me,” he suggested.

You swung your legs over the bed, and slipped your feet into your boots. You took his hand, with the uninjured one. His hand was so large, compared to yours, and your mom's. Not that your mom ever really held your hand, not since you were about five.

He smiled down at you. You wondered if things would have been different, if you hadn’t run off that morning when you saw him, from the barn. You wondered whether, your mom would still be alive. You swallowed down the lump that was in your throat. Crying was weak. Your mom always told you that, so why did you keep wanting to cry.

Dutch guided you into his tent. You looked around in awe. There was a big animal skin rug on the floor, a large cot, a shelf full of books.

A red headed woman, lay on the cot. She glared at you.

“Dutch, I was trying to sleep!” she moaned.

Dutch rolled his eyes, “well go and sleep somewhere else, Molly. I’m spending some time with my daughter.”

The woman stood up and huffed, still glaring at you she walked out of the tent.

You watched her walk away, “I don’t think she likes me.” you concluded.

Dutch chuckled, “sometimes, sweetheart, I don't think she likes me much, either.”

He walked across to the bookshelf, and ran his fingers along the spines of the books, looking for something.

You sat down on the animal skin rug on the floor, and sat cross legged. Running your fingers through the soft fur.

Dutch turned his head, and glanced down at you.

“What on earth are you doing down there, sweetheart,” he queried.

You smiled, “its so soft.”

Dutch chuckled, “we’ll have to see if we cant get one of these for your tent. But really, just sit on the cot.”

You stood up, and walked over to the cot, just as Dutch pulled a book from the shelf. He walked over and sat next to you.

“how about you read to me?” he suggested.

“I never read out loud before!” you answered, nervously.

Dutch smiled, and rested his hand on your shoulder, “just give it a try. If you like it, we can take it in turns. Tomorrow night, I’ll read to you.”

You nodded. You never really spent a lot of time with your mom, not like this. You spent time hunting, and collecting herbs. Eating together, but not just this. It seemed odd, but nice as well.

You opened the book

“Wuthering Heights, Chapter one.” you began.

You read the first page, it seemed strange hearing your own voice. Every so often, you would look up from the page, and glance at your daddy. He would smile and nod in encouragement.

After you’d read the first chapter, he stopped you.

“You read very well Amy, do you enjoy it?” he asked hopefully.

You nodded, “I do, when I get the chance. But there is always lots to do.” you added.

Dutch smiled, “A little rule I have here, we always make time to do something we enjoy. Now, you haven't really eaten at all today, lets go and find Mr Pearson and see if there’s any food left. Then tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to everyone else.”

you stood up, and walked towards the exit.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He picked up your revolver, and handed it to you.

You put it in the holster, “Its not like I can use it though,” you waved your injured hand.

“You have have another hand, don't you?” he asked.

You frowned, then looked at your daddy’s gun belt. He had two revolvers.

“I only learnt to shoot with one!” you exclaimed.

Dutch chuckled, “then I guess we’ll have to teach you to shoot with the other hand, won’t we.”

You nodded, although you weren't sure why you needed to, unless now that you were with your daddy, it meant you were an outlaw too.

Dutch walked you over to the stew pot, which still had some stew left in it. He dished you up a bowl, and a bowl for himself.

He guided you over to a log, the fire casting strange shadows.

As you sat there eating, you noticed a man, sitting across from you. He smiled every so often, as he strummed a guitar.

Dutch smiled, “That's Javier, sweetheart, I’m sure if you ask him nicely, he’ll teach you how to play the guitar,” he hesitated, “once your hand is healed.”

Javier smiled at you, “it will be my pleasure, pequeño. You have a name?”

You nodded, “I’m Amy,” you whispered, shyly.

“Well Amy, come and find me when your hand is healed, and I will happily teach you,” he smiled.

Dutch watched you, taking in your surroundings. Your introduction to the camp, probably hadn’t been the best, what with Arthur tying you up, and Micah’s little outburst followed by your injury. But he hoped you would settle into it.

You stared into the fire. How quickly your like had changed. You wondered what had happened to your mom. If they had buried her, when they collected your stuff. You finished, your stew, then looked at your daddy.

“Daddy?” you asked.

He smiled. He always seem to smile when you called him daddy.

“Yes sweetheart, what is it?” he replied.

“Did you… You bury my mom?” you asked, tears starting to pool in your eyes.

He looked at you, sadness in his eyes.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.

“C… Can I...”

Dutch looked at you seeing the hurt in your eyes, “Yes sweetheart, as soon as your hand is healed, I’ll take you. Its getting late, c’mon.” he whispered.

He guided you back to your tent. He opened the trunk in the corner, and pulled out a nightdress.

“You shouldn't sleep in your clothes, can you manage?” he asked.

You nodded.

He kissed you on the forehead, “Sweet dreams princess.”

You watched as he left the tent, glancing over his shoulder before he left, and closed the flap.

You wiped a stray tear from your cheek. You wondered how different your life might have been if you’d had your daddy with you, from the day you were born. You loved your mom, but she had been tough on you. You wondered if growing up with your daddy, things might have been different.

You guessed you would never know.


	8. An O'Driscoll

You woke the following morning with the sunrise. You quickly dressed and peered out the tent. The camp was quiet. You wondered if anyone got up early at all. You were so used to getting up early to do chores, you would struggle to change that mind set. Even your daddy’s tent flap was closed.

You wandered over to where the horses were hitched, and found Chance. She had been unsaddled, and you found her saddle leaning against a tree. Digging around in the saddle bag, you found a brush, and started to brush her. She nickered, and nudged you.

“I haven’t got anything,” you whispered, to your horse.

“here, give her this.”

You spun around, to see a young man, he handed you an oatcake.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, “I’m Amy.”

You held out the oatcake to Chance, and she greedily ate it.

“I know, I’m Kieran. I know your uncle.” He replied.

You gasped, and took a step back, “wh… What are you doing here,” you stuttered.

Kieran smirked, “I could ask you the same thing! He’s been looking for you, for ages.”

You narrowed your eyes, “are you gonna tell him where I am, he killed my mom, I think he wants to kill me too.”

Kieran shook his head, “I don’t like him much, but he didn't wanna kill ya. Leastways he didn't say he did, and usually if he wants to kill someone everyone knows.”

You frowned, “what about my mom, and my daddy?”

Kieran looked at you, “yeah, he wanted to get rid of both of ‘em.”

You turned away from him, and carried on brushing Chance.

He walked away, seeing to the other horses.

You wondered why your uncle wanted you, if he wasn’t gonna kill you. Was he like your mom, or was he like your daddy. You were now a little curious.

You heard your name being called across the camp.

“Amy! Amy,” Dutch called out, frantically.

You walked over “morning daddy,” you smiled.

He rushed over and grabbed you by the shoulders, shaking you “where the hell have you been” he growled.

Your eyes started to burn, and then everything blurred as tears began to trickle down your cheeks.

“I… I’m s… Sorry daddy,” you sobbed. “I… I was d… Doing chores.”

Dutch’s shoulders sagged, as he saw your tears, and how upset you were. Had he frightened you? Maybe Melissa was right, maybe he wasn't much good as a father.

He wrapped his arms around you, “Don’t cry poppet, I was just worried is all. I just want to keep you safe. You don’t need to be doing chores anyway.” he soothed.

You looked up at him, tears still in your eyes, “mom said if I didn't look after chance properly, then she would get rid of her, because I didn't deserve to have her.”

Dutch frowned, “well sweetheart, your with me now, and you can have whatever you want. If you want to look after your horse, that's fine, but you need to tell someone, not just disappear like that.”

You pressed your cheek into your daddy’s chest.

“I’m sorry daddy,” you mumbled.

He hushed you, “why don't you go and grab a couple of bowls of stew, and we can eat breakfast together?”

You nodded, and wiped the eyes with the back of your hand, as you walked over to the pot that had just been put out.

Hosea looked at Dutch, “you didn't have to frighten the kid, half to death!” he chuckled.

Dutch rolled his eyes, “I’m not very good at this Hosea.”

Hosea smiled and patted his friend on the shoulder, “you’ll get used to it. Its just been a while, since we had a youngster in the camp.”

Dutch nodded, “except neither John nor Arthur cried much, they just cussed. I’m a bit concerned though,” he added.

Hosea looked over at you, collecting the bowls of stew, “why, she seems to be settling in ok?”

Dutch shook his head. “It ain't that. Just some of the things she’s said about her mom. Seems like Melissa was a bit tough on the kid. No wonder she’s a bit confused.”

Hosea hummed, “c’mon Dutch, why are you surprised. I know you liked her, but she was an O’Driscoll, when it comes to it. They aren't that well known for their affection.”

Dutch nodded. It was true, he had liked Melissa, but she did have a mean streak at times. Nothing like her brothers, but it was still there. Amy on the other hand, didn't seem to have a bad bone in her body.

You walked back over, and saw Hosea standing next to your daddy.

“Hi Hosea, are you having breakfast with us?” you asked.

Hosea smiled, “well I guess I could.”

You handed the bowls of stew to your daddy and Hosea.

“What about you, sweetheart,” Dutch asked.

“It’s ok, I’ll just go and get another one,” you smiled, and ran back over to the stew pot.

Dutch watched you, then glanced at Hosea, “Not much O’Driscoll meanness there, is there?”

Hosea shook his head. “Even if Colm wanted her back, because she’s his niece, and not to get back at you, If he ever took her, he’d break her.”

Dutch nodded, “I know, Hosea. That's what scares me most.”

You walked back over with another bowl of stew, and sat down next to your daddy, and Hosea.

“How’s your hand today?” Hosea asked.

You moved your fingers, your thumb not quite as much.

“It’s a bit sore, but only when I move my thumb.” you replied, frowning at your hand as you moved the digits.

“Well best you don't move it too much, but give it another couple of days, and the bandage can probably come off.” he added.

You nodded, “Daddy’s gonna take me to my mom's grave, when my hand is better, and Javier is going to teach me to play the guitar!”

Hosea laughed, “sounds like you’re gonna be pretty busy.”

“Oh and daddy’s gonna teach me to shoot with my other hand.” you added.

Hosea frowned and looked at Dutch, “Is he now!”

Dutch smiled, “thought it would be best, all things considered.”

“Talking of shooting things!” Hosea hesitated, “Hello Micah.”

As Micah Bell approached the table, you stopped eating and your body tensed. Your first introduction to this man, hadn’t been very pleasant. You sensed that Hosea didn't like him much either.

You watched as he pulled a knife from his jacket pocket, and put it on the table.

“Yours I think,” he huffed.

You looked at the knife it was definitely yours. You reached out to pick it up, but before you could, he put his hand over yours and the knife.

“What do you say, princess?” he smirked.

You narrowed your eyes, and scowled, “thanks.”

Micah lifted his hand, and you quickly put the knife in its holster on your belt.

“Glad to see you’re teaching the little O’Driscoll some manners, Dutch,” Micah hissed.

Dutch scowled at Micah. “Watch your mouth, boy!” he hissed. “her name is Amy, and she’s a Van Der Linde.”

Micah huffed, and walked away. He looked over his shoulder. “We’ll see about that,” he muttered, under his breath.


	9. Keep me safe

You frowned, as you watched Micah walk away.

“I don't think he likes me much,” you sighed.

Hosea laughed, “I wouldn't lose any sleep over it. He doesn't like anyone much!”

Dutch rolled his eyes, “He’s not that bad, I’m sure he’ll warm to you, sweetheart.”

You finished eating your stew, and thinking about Micah. You weren’t sure you wanted him to warm to you. Not many men would do what he did to you, then not even apologise. Well you guessed that was right. You hadn’t come across many outlaws. Maybe that's what they did.

“Daddy?” You asked.

“What is it, sweetheart,” Dutch answered, in-between mouthfuls of food.

“Am I gonna be an outlaw?” You asked, frowning.

Dutch almost spat out the food in his mouth.

Hosea, smirked at his friend. “Ah the joys of fatherhood,” he quipped.

Dutch cast Hosea a look of annoyance.

Dutch smiled at you, “sweetheart, you can be anything you want to be. What do you want to be?”

You frowned, and hummed. “I don’t know, but I like hunting. When my hand is better, can we go hunting?”

Dutch hummed, “maybe, in the meantime, why don't you go and pick a book of the shelf, and read.”

You nodded, and headed towards your daddy’s tent.

Hosea chuckled, “she’s not gonna be satisfied with reading all day long. Once her hand is better, she’s gonna want to be out and about doing stuff!”

Dutch groaned, “that’s what I’m afraid of. How the hell am I gonna keep a fourteen year old girl occupied and safe, when all she’s been used to doing is chores, hunting and riding!”

Hosea thought for a moment. “Well you could always ask Charles to take her hunting. Javier can teach her to play the guitar. John was her age, when you started taking him on jobs!”

“She’s not gonna be going on any jobs, that's my daughter you’re talking about,” Dutch snapped.

Hosea frowned, “and John was your son, not by blood, but still like a son to you, as was Arthur!”

Dutch shook his head, “it feels different somehow. I don't know. Maybe because she’s a girl, or maybe because she’s my flesh and blood. I don't want her in any danger.”

Hosea shrugged, “she’s half O’Driscoll and half Van Der Linde. She was born to be in danger, nothing you can do about that, you just need to give her the tools to protect herself.”

Dutch stood up, “You’re right, old friend. That's exactly what I’m gonna do.”

“Amy! Amy, sweetheart, come here.” Dutch yelled towards his tent.

You walked out of his tent, a book in your hand which you’d chosen, and walked over to him.

“Put the book down, sweetheart. Time for you to learn to shoot with your left hand!” he stated.

You grinned, and pulled out your revolver.

Dutch chuckled, “not here, sweetheart. Susan doesn't like people firing off guns in camp. C’mon, we’ll get a few empty bottles and go down to the river.”

The river wasn't that far away from the camp, but your daddy decided that you would both ride down there. He lifted you effortlessly onto the saddle, then mounted up behind you. You thought you were able to ride with one hand, but your daddy thought otherwise. You realised now how unalike your parents were. Your mom, never babied you and made you stand on your own two feet, even when you were hurt. Your daddy on the other hand, treated you like glass. You felt it would have been nice to have some sort of middle ground. You gently stroked the white stallions neck, as you both headed to the river.

When you came to a stop, you didn't wait for your daddy to lift you off, you dismounted yourself, much to his annoyance.

“You need to be careful, Amy. You don’t want to injure your hand, more than it is already.” he scolded.

You sighed, “yes, daddy.”

Dutch frowned, “what’s the matter?”

You folded your arms, “I’m not a baby,” you huffed. “I could have ridden here today!”

Dutch smiled, “no doubt, but just because you can, doesn't mean that you should. You wanna go hunting, and learn to play the guitar. If you hurt your hand, it’ll take longer to heal, then you’ll be stuck doing nothing. Last thing I want is a grumpy teenager around camp!”

“Fine! I’ll do it your way!” you huffed.

“Good!” he retorted, “because I’m your father, and what I say goes. I doubt you talked back to your mother like that!”

You thought for a moment, you wouldn’t have dared talk to your mother like that, if you had, she would have given you belting. You learnt that the hard way. You figured if your daddy did that, it would hurt a helluva lot more than when your mom did it.

“No, sir.” you mumbled, lowering your eyes.

Dutch looked at you, wondering if he had got too heavy handed again.

“C’mon then, lets get these bottles setup, and you can show me what you got!” he urged.

You looked up and forced a smile.

Once the bottles had been setup on a flattish rock, by the edge of the water. You took you gun out of its holster.

It felt weird holding it in your left hand. You were a pretty good shot, with your right hand, but you couldn’t manage to hit one bottle.

You quickly became frustrated.

“This is stupid,”you huffed.

Dutch chuckled, “you don’t have much patience, just like your mother.”

You frowned, “could she shoot with two guns?”

Dutch nodded, “eventually, but she got frustrated at first. You just need to practice.”

You spent about another half an hour, shooting at the bottles. You did manage to hit a couple, but you thought that was luck rather than skill.

Dutch sat on a rock watching you, a look of intense concentration on your face.

“C’mon, that’ll do for today.” he declared.

You sighed, “can we come again tomorrow?”

Dutch hummed, “we’ll see.”

You tilted your head slightly, “please daddy?” you begged, giving him your best doe eyes.

Dutch smiled, “alright, princess. Tomorrow.” he kissed the top of your head. “Now are you too grown up to have me lift you onto The Count?

You shook your head, and smiled.

Dutch lifted you up, and mounted up behind you. Then you both headed back to camp.

“Listen Amy,” Dutch began, as you rode back to camp, “I’m real proud of you, sweetheart. It’s been quite an adjustment for you, coming to live with me.” he hesitated, “you know, you can ask me… Tell me anything, don’t you?”

You nodded. You didn't say anything straight away, and neither did he. Then a thought crossed your mind.

“Daddy? Why is Uncle Colm looking for me? Keiran said he doesn't want to kill me?”

Dutch bristled, at the sound of you calling Colm O’Driscoll, uncle. Even if he was your uncle.

“I don’t know sweetheart, but he’s a mean man. You’d only have to say one word out of place, and he’d beat you black and blue, or even kill you. You know that, don't you?”

You nodded, “You won’t let him come for me, will you daddy?”

Dutch wrapped his arm around your waist, and kissed you on the top of your head.

“Never, sweet-pea. I’ll always keep you safe.” he whispered.

You hoped that was true. Your mom had always told you that, and now she was dead.


End file.
